The Big, Bad Wolf Lizzie
THE BIG, BAD WOLF
Lizzie
OCTOBER 31, 1997
“T HANKS FOR HAVING ME OVER , L IZ ,” C LAIRE SAID ON F RIDAY MORNING, DURING AN epic coloring session in my living room. “I had the bestest sleepover ever with you.”
Last night, Claire slept over at my house for the very first time. I invited Shannon too, but she didn’t come. I wasn’t surprised about that. She never came to Claire’s sleepovers either. Her parents were strict about that sort of thing.
“Me, too,” I replied, although I didn’t do too much sleeping. Claire made the strangest snoring noises in her sleep, which usually kept me awake, but I never cared about that. I was just happy to be with her. Claire was always happy and when I spent time with her, I felt happy, too. Like right now, for instance. We were coloring in my front room, while we waited to be picked up for Hugh’s party, and I felt happy . I wasn’t scared or sad or angry. All I felt was peace and contentment. Claire gave that to me without even realizing.
“You make the best duck ever,” I added, eyeing her Halloween costume. She was wearing a fluffy, yellow duck costume, with yellow tights and gigantic, webbed feet.
“I’m a chicken,” she corrected, tongue poking out, as she concentrated on her coloring. “Gerard’s an egg.”
“Oh.” Covering my mouth to stifle my laughter, I retrained my attention on the picture I was working on. I liked to design covers for all my stories, and this was going to be the cover for my latest one. It made me so proud when my dad printed them out on his computer and stapled them together.
Today’s story was titled The Adventures of Dorothy Tickle and Samson Strong .
With the contents of my pencil case strewn on top the coffee table, I worked hard on staying between the lines like Hugh had shown me. I knew what to do, of course, but I didn’t seem to have handwriting as neat as his. My coloring wasn’t as tidy, either.
“How are my favorite girls?” a familiar voice said from the doorway, causing me to tense and Claire to groan. “Ugh.” Scrunching her nose up in disapproval, she narrowed her eyes at Mark. “You are so annoying.”
Chuckling, Mark strode into the room and settled on the couch behind us. “You make a cute chick, Baby Biggs,” he mused, flicking through channels on our television.
“And you make a bad smell, Stinky Mark,” Claire replied, coloring extra hard on her page.
“What about you, munchkin?” He nudged my hip with his sock-clad foot. “What’s with the black wig and creepy dress. You going as a witch or something?”
“Lizzie is not a witch,” Claire corrected, sounding outraged. “She is Morticia Addams.”
“And let me guess; your brother is Gomez.”
“That’s right, and we already have a friend going as Lurch, so you should stop making your face look so stupid.”
“You’re a cheeky, little witch, aren’t you?”
“I’m a chicken, not a witch, dummy.”
They continued to argue, while I tried to make myself as small as possible, wishing I could snap my fingers and go poof like the scary lady.
Feeling sick, I retrained my attention to my picture of Dorothy and Samson. Dorothy looked just like me, and I was going to give Samson a beautiful golden cape, I decided. Golden to match his skin. And he was going to have pretty, whiskey-colored eyes and wavy, blond hair.
“Turn that off,” Claire ordered loudly, dragging my attention to where she was pointing at the television. “That’s not ’propriate for my eyes.”
“It’s Baywatch .”
“So? It’s still not ’propriate for my eyes.”
“Says who?”
“My mam.”
I glanced at the television screen to where two lifeguards were kissing and touching each other in the shower.
I knew all about that.
And it came after the touching.
The monster showed me.
“What about you, Baby Biggs?” Mark continued to taunt my friend. “Ever kissed my brother like that?”
“Are you stupid?” Claire scrunched her nose up in disgust. “I’m eight.”
“What about you, munchkin?” He poked me with his foot again. “I bet you’ve been kissing her brother like that.”
“Hugh’s her friend, you weirdo, and Liz is only nine,” Claire defended, slapping his foot away. “Quit annoying us or I’m telling Catherine on you!”
“You’ve got fire in you, don’t ya, Baby Biggs?” Mark laughed, clearly unbothered by her warning. “That’s good.”
The sound of the front door slamming shut filled my ears then, followed by my sister’s voice when she called out, “Look who I found outside, girls.” My sister appeared in the doorway with a familiar, curly-haired boy beside her.
“Gibs!” I exclaimed at the same time Claire cried out, “Gerard.”
“Look at the state of you,” Mark snapped, glowering at my friend. “What the fuck kind of costume is that?”
“He’s an egg,” Claire defended, making a beeline for Gerard. “And I’m a chicken.”
“He’s a dickhead is what he is,” Mark muttered.
“Leave him alone,” Caoimhe admonished, elbowing his side when she joined him on the couch. “He’s only a child.”
Gibsie’s eyes flicked to Mark before focusing on Claire. “Are you okay?”
“Of course,” she replied happily, throwing her arms around him. “I missed you, Gerard.”
“I missed you, too,” he replied, attention shifting from his stepbrother to Claire. “Your mam’s outside talking to Catherine,” he added, turning them around so that he was the one with his back to the couch. “I wanted to come with her to make sure you were okay.” He shrugged. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine, Gerard,” Claire laughed, bouncing from foot to foot from the sheer excitement she clearly felt from being reunited with him. “Mam’s outside?”
“Yeah, she’s talking to Catherine.”
“I’m going to go hug her,” she announced before bolting for the door. “Will you grab my bag from your room, Liz?”
“Yeah,” I replied, watching her disappear from sight.
“Gibs!” Mark barked, causing both of us to jump. “Come over here, fucker. I want a word with you.”
Gibsie reached for my hand at the same time I reached for his, and I asked, “Do you want to come upstairs with me to get Claire’s bag instead?”
Nodding eagerly, he fell into step with me as we bolted into the hallway, heading straight for the staircase at top speed.
Not stopping until we were inside my room, Gibsie stood with his back to my door and exhaled several shaky breaths.
“Are you okay?” I asked, feeling worried.
“Yeah, I’m…” Breathing hard, he held a hand up and momentarily focused on his breathing until it evened out. “I just hate that guy.”
“You do?”
He offered me a clipped nod. “I’ve never hated anyone before, but I truly hate him.”
“Can you keep a secret?” I whispered, feeling nervous.
Gibsie’s eyes were wary, but his head was nodding slowly, as he walked over to my bed and sat down next to me. “I’ll keep your secret, Lizzie.”
“You swear?”
Another noble nod. “Pinky promise.”
Hooking my pinky finger through his, I turned and gave him my full attention. “I think I hate him, too.”
The moment the words were out of my mouth, I started to shake. “I’m sorry,” I was quick to blurt. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
Not out loud at least.
“It’s okay,” he replied, reaching for my hand. “It’s okay, Liz.”
It wasn’t okay.
Because if he found out…
Breathing hard and fast, I tried to concentrate on Gibsie’s face and not the voices growing louder in my head.
I didn’t want the monster to come out now.
Not during the daytime.
My friend sat with me for a long time, eyes locked on mine, before he finally spoke. “Has he hurt you?”
“Who?”
“Mark.”
I thought about it for a long time before shaking my head.
“Are you sure?”
Was I?
I used to think so, but not anymore. It was the monster in my dreams all along, not Mark. The monster got me at night when I was sleeping, but the doctors said he wasn’t real. But my sister? He definitely got her.
Leaning close, I whispered in his ear, “He hurts Caoimhe.” And then I pointed to my bed for good measure to emphasize what I was trying to tell him. “He does things to her.”
His entire body stiffened. “What kind of things?”
“Bad things,” I whispered, remembering it vividly. What I’d seen. In the dark of the night when I was supposed to be sleeping. Her cries. The sadness. The pain in my heart. “He takes off all her clothes, and then he makes growling sounds when he holds her down on the bed. He pushes the hard thing inside her and she cries, Gibs. She cries so hard, but he always covers her mouth with his hand and keeps poking her until she stops crying. And then, when he stops wrestling her, when the white stuff comes out, he gets out of her bed and goes back to…he goes downstairs for a drink.”
Gibsie reached up and wiped a tear from his cheek. “He’s bad, Liz. He does it at my house, too.”
My eyes widened in horror. “To Caoimhe when she sleeps over?”
Gibsie paused for a moment before closing his eyes and nodding.
“I want him to go away,” I admitted, scurrying closer to him, as I admitted my thoughts for the first time out loud. “I don’t like when he’s in my house.” Shivering, I added, “I want him to go away and never come back.”
“Me, too,” he whispered, turning his shiny, gray eyes back on me.
“I haven’t told anyone else,” I whispered. “Not even Hugh.”
“Me either,” he whispered. “Not even Claire.”
“Promise you won’t tell?” I held up my pinky finger. “I can’t get in trouble again.” They’ll send me away.
“I promise if you promise,” he vowed, hooking my pinky with his. “I’ll take it to the grave.”
“Me, too.” I breathed out a huge sigh of relief before asking, “Do you think we should try to break them up?” I shrugged before adding, “At least that way he would have to stop hurting my sister at nighttime.”
“Your sister won’t break up with him,” Gibsie replied, eyes laced with sadness. “She wants to marry him.”
“I don’t want Caoimhe to marry Mark.” Sadness bloomed in my belly at the thought. “He’ll be here forever then.”
“Don’t worry.” Gibsie tried to soothe me, wiping a tear from my cheek now. “We’ll be grown-ups by the time that happens, with our own houses, and he won’t be invited inside.”
“Like the three little pigs and the big, bad wolf?”
“Exactly,” he agreed with a small smile. “Mark Allen can huff and puff all he wants when I’m a grown-up, but I’ll be strong enough to keep him out.”
“Me too,” I agreed, balling my small hand into a fist. “And the brave knight will stop him with his sword if he tries to come down my chimney.”
“Hey, Lizzie?”
“Yeah, Gibs?”
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Yep.” Smiling, I reached up and brushed a tear from his cheek. “I’m always okay, Gibs.”